A Little Touched
by The Seventh L
Summary: House is untouchable, and that's exactly how Lucas likes it - until he crosses the line. /Dark!House/Voyeur!Lucas; written for Springkink at Livejournal. Contains dark themes/concepts  including one moment of dub-con ./


Lucas is awkward and insecure and not particularly pretty and smart in an oblivious way and no one really expects much of him so that when he does something it always takes everyone by surprise. House, in turn, is self-assured and confident and smooth and handsome in a rugged way and is always flaunting his knowledge while flouting one of Cuddy's golden rules so that when he acts out no one is really surprised.

It's only natural that Lucas would look up to House, admire House from afar, worship House like an untouchable house god, wonder what the inside of his house looks like, imagine how his face feels after several days of not shaving, and what kind of razor he uses when he does, think about House's favorite song and favorite take-out place and favorite book from high school. Once Lucas' interest is piqued, it's hard to shake him, and his interest is fully devoted to one Gregory House.

So it's only natural that Lucas would eventually use his private investigator skills for his own purposes. With his little compact car as his mode of transport, he watches House at all his usual haunts, whether it be the bookstore or the bar or some one night stand's apartment (and then he would feel his pulse race and his hands clench into tight fists as he watches the silhouettes of two people in the bedroom window, as he imagines House kissing, touching, _fucking_ some woman he barely knows; before long, Lucas can barely keep the images from affecting him and he starts keeping boxes of tissues in his car just because).

One day, Lucas makes a copy of House's apartment key. He manages to discreetly buy spying equipment from his usual detective sources and places cameras in certain places all around the doctor's abode. Yes, even there, because Lucas believes in leaving no stone unturned. And then he spends the next day, a Sunday, at his own apartment, watching House move about on multiple windows from the headphone comfort of his desktop computer. Around five in the afternoon he hears familiar grunting and moaning sounds come from the bathroom so he switches to the commode view and what he sees has Lucas blushing and unconsciously imitating House's own actions (and makes him move another tissue box next to his computer, just because).

His slight absence as House's PI shadow doesn't go unnoticed, but House never says anything to his face on the occasions they do keep each other's company, never touching because that would be a line Lucas can't cross so easily. He feels like House's team wants to make smart remarks about Lucas' decline in unannounced visits, but they don't. It doesn't matter; it's House who hired Lucas in the first place. It's House's words that will mean the most to him.

At the teaching hospital, Lucas will spend his lunch hour with House in the cafeteria, and all the while through their usual gossipy banter Lucas can't help but think to himself over and over things he wants to tell the frighteningly handsome man in front of him: _Greg, I've seen you buy groceries on weekends and I've seen you play Eric Clapton on your guitar and I've seen you masturbate while thinking about Cuddy and Cameron and sometimes when I have trouble sleeping I turn on the computer and watch you toss and turn in your bed because the idea of you sleeping with anyone else but me scares me and I don't want to lose you to someone who isn't me-_

And then Wilson or Cameron or Taub will show up and interrupt with something about a case or something else House has made a mess of, and Lucas is left to fend for himself as House saunters off to the next great distraction in his life. That doesn't mean that Lucas doesn't watch him leave, every time, and wonders if there are words he could have said that would have kept House around just a little longer.

Naturally, good things never last for long. Naturally, Lucas finds a way to screw it up - and it is pretty much the worst way possible for him.

First is a hand towel from his bathroom. Then a small bottle of cologne usually worn on special occasions. He follows this with a guitar pick, an empty pill bottle, a used toothbrush, several records, a faded and slightly tattered t-shirt. They accumulate in a box he keeps under the bed and pulls out when just watching House is not enough. At one point, he starts keeping the t-shirt under his pillow and then wearing it to bed despite it being a little tight across the chest.

At the hospital, Lucas is around to hear House during one of his usual rants in Wilson's office, and hears House make an off-handed remark about things disappearing from his apartment. What he or Wilson doesn't see is the small side glance House shoots Lucas as he walks past on his way to the coffee machine. He also never sees the camera House places discreetly near the entrance of his own apartment to catch the so-called burglar until it is too late. In the end, Lucas was always a pretty terrible investigator - the kind whose targets always saw coming a mile away.

Lucas thinks he's clever and heads to House's place before the other man is supposed to be home, but when he closes the front door behind him with a resounding click and turns to look into the apartment, he sees that House is already there, sitting back in a chair in the only brightly lit spot of the room, cane resting lightly against his right leg. The echo of the door clicking shut is the sound of best laid plans shutting down around his ears.

"When I hired you, this wasn't what I had in mind." House sounds oddly calm for someone who was pretty much staring down his own stalker.

"Yeah, neither did I." Lucas isn't lying. "But you can feel confident in knowing you're a special case."

"You sneak into other people's houses. Do you usually take their stuff and keep it? Because I'd like my shirt back."

"You don't really."

"You didn't sell it on some sleazy used t-shirt market, did you?"

"No." The tone of his voice is enough to tell House exactly why that was. "What was your first clue? About this?"

"Your car," House says, "sticks out like a sore thumb on any street."

"I changed cars several times," Lucas points out.

"Maybe, but you were still behind the wheel and changing cars doesn't change the fact you are a shitty driver to be tailing someone secretly."

"It could have been different," Lucas says weakly. He leans against the front door until the contact of his shivering back and the wood is the only thing aside from his weak legs that is really holding him up.

"I don't think so." And then the only thing holding Lucas up is the wooden cane being pressed against his windpipe and House's free hand against his chest and he wonders if the older man can feel his heart threatening to break out of his ribcage cause its beating fast like a scared rabbit about to die, a sudden fear that shows in his eyes and the way he realizes there's nothing he can do to stop House from killing him or worse.

"I could stop you from spying on me for a long, long time," House continues, "but then I'd have to clean up the mess you'd leave behind. Not to mention all of the paperwork I'd have to fill out and what I'd tell Cuddy."

Lucas gulps hard and his throat bobs against the doctor's cane, realizing that House didn't mean any small measures like removing the cameras or taking away his PI license but something a hell of a lot more final.

So he tries in his own way to beg for his own life, even as the stare of House's cold eyes seem to bore holes in his head. "I could make it better. I know you, I know you hate being alone. We don't have to be friends, but we can be alone together."

"You don't know me," House says, "You just know what I do."

"And what you like and what you hate and how you feel and think and live," Lucas counters. "That sounds like knowing you to me. And I think I know you pretty well – enough to know you can't hurt me. You won't."

"I won't?"

"No, you won't." Lucas was only half-sure he was right. "And I know what you want. I've seen what you do when you can't get it."

"Drugs or sex?" House asks. "Or are we going for the golden trifecta of drugs, sex, and rock 'n' roll?" The quip rolls easily off his tongue even as he tightens his hold on Lucas' wrinkled shirtfront just a fraction, enough to make the other man wince outwardly.

"I can get you both –"and then he corrects himself, "I can _give_ you both."

"Funny. That's exactly what Wilson said." The cane drops to the ground with an earsplitting clatter and House is shoving Lucas roughly against the door; his painfully thin frame presses against Lucas' more burly frame and one of House's hands pins Lucas' arms above and behind him while the other yanks sharply at the man's clothes, running under his shirt and over his chest and making short work of his pants' zipper and fly.

For someone who doesn't do a lot of physical labor, the skin of House's hand is rough and callused on Lucas' member, which had turned hard as soon as he had been first pushed against the front door by his target's cane. If he hadn't been watching him over the surveillance cams, Lucas could still have told that House clearly had a lot of experience jerking another man off – although he had to wonder if Wilson received the same abrasive treatment. Hell, House refuses to even look Lucas in the eye as he does it, keeping his gaze set firmly above his head of semi-curls to where his hands are currently being held in place. Lucas wants to take control, to touch House's hand as he rubs and strokes him, but he also doesn't want it to stop, so he just lets the moment roll over him. He is no longer master of House's domain.

After a while, Lucas collapses against the heavy frame of the door, completely spent by House's labor, and wonders if this is what he really wants. He looks up into House's face, still passive despite the stickiness now coating his hand, and knows he's lost. The sound of House wiping his hand off on a nearby towel is lost to him, as is the sound of House picking his cane up from the floor.

Then House lands a quick blow to Lucas' legs with his cane and he is aware of his surroundings again only now he is also aware of the slow throbbing pain traveling up his body. "Get up," he says, giving his cane a quick twirl as if it was all fun and games. "Are you done yet?"

Lucas looks up and sees House is looking back with naked interest in his eyes. "No," he says and House puts on one of his usual crooked little smiles.

"That's what I like to hear." He starts walking away in the direction of the kitchen, and Lucas watches his retreating backside with a sense of odd satisfaction at getting a reaction out of him. Numbly, he starts planning his next move. Preferably something that involves night vision goggles and rope.


End file.
